


14x20 Coda

by emmbrancsxx0



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 14x20 coda, Coda, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, First Kiss, I'm shaking, M/M, POV Castiel (Supernatural), absent fathers and daddy issues were the big bad all along, anyway this hiatus is gonna be unbearable, season 14, they tried to warn us for 14 years, y'all that finale was the best ever it was so awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 11:20:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmbrancsxx0/pseuds/emmbrancsxx0
Summary: End of the world.  He wished they had more time.  But, “What the hell,” he echoed.





	14x20 Coda

“Dean? _Dean_!”

Castiel’s voice was hoarse from yelling, his throat scratching and aching like an animal was slicing its claws along his larynx. He’d been shouting all night. His face was speckled with blood and his coat was ripped and tattered at the ends. His sleeve was covered up to his elbow in some kind of black substance. The world around him was nighttime dark.

“Sam!” 

The grass and rock crunched under his feet as he zigzagged through the trees and tombstones, his breath a few yards behind him. His fist around his angel blade was sore and tired, and he thought maybe— _maybe_ —he had a second to breathe, to rest. Just a second.

No.

He couldn’t find Dean. He couldn’t find Sam.

And Jack—

Jack. His boy . . .

 _No_. 

He couldn’t think of that now. He had to find Sam and Dean.

There was a shadow between two trees up ahead, and Castiel came to a sliding halt. He gripped his blade tighter, joints protesting, and readied himself.

Dean stepped into the light. He was bent over and limping, one arm clutched to his chest and the other held out in front of him like a white flag. The iron fence rod was still clutched in his fist. There was a gash under his hairline, causing blood to ooze into his eyes. “Wait, it’s me. Cas,” he just about gasped out.

Castiel felt a wave of relief flood him. “ _Dean_.” He rushed towards Dean, meaning to lift his arm over his shoulder to help him stand; but, when he got there, he found himself manhandling Dean into an embrace. Dean gasped a little in surprise, or in pain, but after a moment he fell against Castiel’s chest. Castiel held him tighter, gritting his teeth into it. He felt Dean bury his face into his shoulder and shudder.

Some deep, instinctual part of him longed to reach out and heal Dean of his wounds, to mend his broken body. But his grace was lethargic and spent within him, mere wisps mustering before flickering weakly. He needed time to gain his strength.

He needed more time.

There were growls and groans in the distance. The enemy was still closing in. It was the end of the world and all Castiel wanted to do was keep holding Dean. To grip him tight and never let go.

But that couldn’t happen. They didn’t have time. Reluctantly, he drew away and said, “Where’s Sam?”

Dean swallowed, panic flashing in his eyes for a brief moment before he got it under control. He shook his head quickly. “I don’t know. I lost him.”

Castiel nodded, composing himself. He wanted to tell Dean that they would find him. They would fight and kill and tear through every monster until they did. But, before he could, something flickered into existence next to a cracked tombstone.

Dean spotted her, too. He quickly pushed his pain from his mind long enough to swipe her with the iron rod, and she disappeared into a cloud of smoke. Dean reeled back, out of breath. He was holding himself together simply through sheer force of determination.

The ghost resurfaced, two others with her.

“Can you smoke ‘em?” Dean panted. 

Castiel reached within himself, trying to marshal his grace. It was useless. His breath was too labored to speak, so he shook his head and let out a wet sound.

Dean tightened his jaw and doubled his grip on the rod, twisting it in his fists. “Old fashioned way, then.” He charged forward, but one of the ghosts waved his hand and sent Dean spiraling through the air. The rod dropped lamely on the grass.

Castiel dove for it, and came back up brandishing it. The ghosts tried to fling him out of the way, but thankfully there was still some angel left in him. If that was good for anything these days, he hoped it was this.

He cut through the spirits with the rod and scattered them into the ether. They’d be back soon. He could already feel their energies shifting through the air.

He ran to Dean, leaning down and finding a bruise blooming on his temple.

“Dean! Wake up!” He shook him by the front of his jacket.

Dean groaned, his eyes flickering open and coming into focus. They were hazy and far away. He was likely concussed.

“We don’t have time,” Castiel told him, hauling him up, despite Dean’s protesting sounds.

Supporting Dean’s weight, Castiel looked around the cemetery with wide, panicked eyes. There was a church through the trees. They had to get there. 

He started for it, and Dean’s legs stumbled as he followed along. Their hips kept knocking together as they trudged along. Halfway there, a moaning-growl sounded behind them. Castiel froze, and looked over his shoulder to find a zombie headed for them. Its arms were outstretched and its mouth hungry and feral.

Castiel eased Dean down to the dirt and propped him up against a tombstone. “Cas—,” Dean said, his voice choked. His fingers reached out to grab him, but only caught air. 

“Wait here,” Castiel told him, and took care of the zombie.

When they reached the church, the doors were unlocked. It was one small mercy, and Castiel almost muttered a thanks to God before remembering why they were in that predicament.

He deposited Dean on one of the pews as the doors slammed shut behind them. He locked it, and fixed the deadbolt for safe measure. He scanned around wildly for anything he could use to barricade them. There was a cross on a pole. He snatched it from its stand and fit it between the door handles, bending the iron with great exertion until it twisted together like a lock.

He wondered if he could get the table on the alter down the aisle. It was worth a shot. He ran towards it, situated himself next to it, and shoved. It was heavy, and he was so tired, but it budged a little. 

“Cas,” Dean groaned, his voice bouncing off the dark stain glass windows. He lifted himself up and tripped down the aisle, shaking his head. He used the ends of the pews for support.

“Cas, stop.” 

Castiel turned around, placing his back against the table, and pushed. It moved another inch.

He skewed his eyes closed, and all he could see was Jack’s body and hollowed sockets behind his eyelids. The image was burned there—forever—just like Jack’s wings on the dirt. 

“Cas, dammit! You’re gonna kill yourself!”

He let out a load, labored sound, and whatever energy he had left drained away. Dean rounded the other side of the table just as Castiel slunk to the floor, breathing heavily. It felt good to not be on his feet, but it also felt wrong.

Then, Dean sat beside him, and Castiel listened to his breath even out. And it wasn’t so wrong anymore.

After a second, Dean dug through his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He held it to his ear, and Castiel heard the shrilling sound of the line ringing until Sam’s voicemail took over. 

“Fuck, Sam,” Dean said in a harsh whisper, and hung up. He looked like he’d decided something, and then he looked like he was going to get up. Castiel held his arm out flimsily against Dean’s chest to stop him. If Dean wanted to, he could have easily removed it. But he didn’t.

“Rest, Dean. We’ll find Sam.” 

It seemed like Dean might argue, but then he relented. “Okay,” he conceded, knowing it was in everyone’s best interest if he built up his strength first. “We rest up for five and then we go get him.”

There was silence between them for a stretch, until Dean’s gaze focused on the crucifixion statue above the alter. “Seeking sanctuary in a church,” he said, almost laughing, like he’d just realized where they were. “How’s that for irony?”

Castiel supposed he was right, but he didn’t see why that was funny. His stomach twisted into a knot, and he thought he might be sick. “Dean, I’m sorry,” he said, quickly launching into his apology. He had to get it out there, though he knew words wouldn’t make the slightest different. “This is my fault. I should have never called him here. I should have never—.” 

“Cas, stop,” Dean said softly. He grabbed the hand Castiel had been gesturing with by the wrist and let their touch fall connected to Castiel’s outstretched, limp legs. “Just stop. You—you’re the only thing that ever came out of Heaven to actually give a damn. You’re the only one who helped me and Sammy out.”

Castiel stayed silent, not knowing what to say.

Dean rolled his head against the side of the table to catch Castiel’s eyes. He searched Castiel’s face like he was looking for something, and maybe found it. “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I was being a dick. This—this ain’t on you. It’s on all of us.” 

“Dean—.” 

Dean’s fingers slipping off his wrist to entangle in Castiel’s own stilled him.

“Never thought it’d end like this,” he said, his expression laden with something unreadable.

Castiel gripped his hand in return. “Yes, you did.”

Dean snorted in an unexpected laugh and turned away. Castiel kept staring at his profile, drinking it in. If this truly were the end, they’d be going to two different places. Castiel would need to remember.

“Yeah, guess I did,” Dean laughed. “But this is less _blaze of glory_ and more _holy shit_.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed ruefully, “holy.”

Dean looked back into his gaze, and then lower, and then lower still until his brows knitted together in confusion. “Dude, did something _bite_ you?”

Castiel tried to look down at his clavicle. He couldn’t see much from the angle, but there was blood on his collar and he realized a dull ache was emitting from that area. “I suppose so,” he mused. 

Dean placed his head back against the table and laughed up at the steepled roof. “Never thought I’d be jealous of a zombie,” he muttered.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, not understanding. “What?” 

“Nothin’, nothin’.” 

Before Castiel could inquire further, Dean’s cell phone started chirping. They both hissed in surprise, and Dean let go of his hand to answer the phone. “Sammy?” 

“I’m all right,” Sam’s muffled and tinny voice came through. 

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief, and Castiel closed his eyes into the same emotion.

“Where the hell are you?” Dean asked.

“I made it to the car. Where are you?”

“There’s a church—.”

“Yeah, I see it.” And then, “Dean. I can’t find Cas—.”

Dean’s eyes flickered up to his. “I’m looking at him.”

“Thank—,” Sam aborted his thought. “Well, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“All right, I’ll pull the car up. We gotta get back to the bunker, hunker down until . . . Shit, I don’t even know, Dean.”

Dean’s expression tensed, and his tone was suddenly a lot stronger and braver. “We’re gonna work it out, Sammy. We always do. One step at a time, c’mon. Pull the car up. We’ll meet you outside the doors. Figure out the next step from there.”

Something in Castiel’s chest stirred, too. Dean, where Heaven and the Host failed, always gave him hope. 

Dean ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket. He paused for a moment, seeming to gather his strength. “Okay,” he grunted, and hauled himself up. Castiel followed, holding his hands out in case Dean fell. 

When they were both on their feet, Castiel took a step towards the pews, expecting Dean to do the same. But Dean grabbed him hard by the wrist again and spun Castiel back around, into him. Before Castiel knew it, Dean’s other hand was cradling his jaw tenderly and his lips were on his. 

Castiel’s eyes widened at first, and he was certain this was some kind of hallucination—just a death throe as a zombie ripped his vessel apart. But it was real. He felt his grace spark, heard it hum in his ears. He let his eyes slip closed and gave in to Dean. His hand wrapped around to the dip in Dean’s spine and pulled him in closer. 

When they broke apart, Castiel was breathless again, and he felt sturdier. The wounds that had broken and discolored Dean’s skin were gone.

Despite it all, Dean flashed him a smile, and Castiel found one of his own stretching his face. 

“I figured, you know,” Dean said, “end of the world.” He shrugged. “What the hell?”

Castiel nodded, agreeing. End of the world. He wished they had more time. But, “What the hell,” he echoed.

Dean squeezed his wrist quickly before letting it go, and he turned to walk down the aisle.

“Now, what d’you say? Let’s go ice God.”


End file.
